


Holding on Tighter

by Walkinrobe



Series: Heartbreak Series [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-01 05:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkinrobe/pseuds/Walkinrobe
Summary: The happily ever after version of Hold On.
Relationships: Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Series: Heartbreak Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541875
Comments: 74
Kudos: 192





	1. The lengths he will go to avoid emptying his own suitcase

**Author's Note:**

> Ask and you shall receive.
> 
> Let me try and unbreak your heart with a multi-chapter version of the story where they get their happy ending.
> 
> HUUUUUGGGEEEE thank you to my girls Rook, LPM and Cat for test driving AGAIN. 
> 
> You guys have my heart  
💓💕💓💕

The woman is much smaller in person. It’s a terrible cliche to make such an observation. But it’s true.

The woman is overwhelmed and scared. It’s also a terrible cliche to make that observation. But it’s true. 

The woman is polite and has endless questions. She records the answers in a brown leather notebook. 

‘I feel like there is a lot to remember. And my brain isn’t really firing on all cylinders,’ the woman gives a weak smile, explaining away her notebook and pen. 

‘Do what you have to do,’ she gently tells the woman, ‘it’s OK. There is a lot of new information for you to remember right now’. 

The woman’s eyes fill with tears. She blinks them away and puts on a smiling face. She thinks it must be one of the woman’s well-practiced skills.

‘I’m Tess,’ she says, extending a shaky hand. ‘And you’ve obviously already met Scott. He’s playing the attention-seeking card at the moment’.

The woman looks at the man with a wistful fondness and affectionately rolls her eyes.

‘Hello Tess, I’m Rebecca’ she offers in return.

*

The ICU demands one on one nursing. That’s why she likes it. The man is her sole charge. It’s day three of a five-day block of night shifts. 

The man was brought in earlier today. 

She knows who they are - the male patient and his female visitor. Knowing who they are makes their situation desperately sad. They are famous and admired and talented. And the nature of their relationship has always been a little mysterious.

But not inside this room.

Inside this room their relationship is set out in technicolor wonder. It’s like stepping off the porch of Dorothy Gale’s drab grey cottage into the bright land of Oz.

In this room the man is adored by the woman. A crescendoing wave of love and romance and devotion. She speaks to him with soft touches and whispered words. Touches him with familiar kisses that give away their intimate history. 

Adoration that is threatened by the pervasive heaviness of uncertainty and impending doom.

The woman is smart.

She knows what is happening.

*

So far the woman had been the man’s only visitor. 

At 9pm this changes. 

‘Hey, honey,’ the man’s mother greets the woman. Kisses the woman’s hair, rubs the woman’s arm and pulls up a chair so they can sit thigh to thigh.

‘Alma, you’re here,’ the woman sighs.

‘How’s our boy doing?’ the man’s mother asks. 

‘No improvement since I called you. The ventilator is doing a lot more work for him now. His heart is weakening and they’re trying to lessen its load’.

The woman tilts her head to rest it on the man’s mother’s shoulder. Tears rain down her cheeks. It’s the first time she’s shed proper tears. 

‘It’s good to cry, let it all out,’ the man’s mother soothes. 

‘This is not how I imagined our day going. I mean, Christ, the lengths he’ll go to to avoid emptying his own suitcase, eh? I... I’m scared,’ the woman breathes, ‘I just...’ 

The woman can’t speak - tears and shudders swamp her body.

The man’s mother engulfs the woman in an embrace. Gathers her up in a circle of safeness, ‘I know honey, I’m scared too’.

The women hold hands, the rhythmic sound of the ventilator and the woman’s sobs eroding the silence. The man’s mother kisses the woman’s cheek. 

She walks back to the nurses station to retrieve her forgotten pen. When she returns the women are speaking softly. 

‘... only just got home from Vancouver... heard his bags hit the floor... on the floor too... lucky he fell against the couch... broke his fall... called the ambulance... hasn’t opened his eyes...’

The man’s mother nods her head. She is calm and empathetic. 

She likes the man’s mother. 

There is a comfortable trust between the woman and the man’s mother. An easy, well-established dynamic. It’s clear they have been close for a long time. 

‘I can’t imagine our world without him. I don’t want to do this by myself. We can’t be by ourselves,’ the woman looks into the man’s mother’s eyes.

A unspoken exchange happens between the two.

‘Oh, Tessie,’ the man’s mother gasps. ‘Really?’

It’s the woman’s turn to nod. She wipes her tears with the back of her hand. 

‘I didn’t even... even... get to... to... tell him,’ the woman stutters out through heartbreaking sobs. 

*

The way the woman touches the man is beautiful in it’s simplicity. 

A sweep of her thumb over his ear, a sweet press of her lips to his hair, a squeeze of his hand.

She catches their interactions out of the corner of her eye. She tries not to look but it’s bewitching. Compelling. Mesmeric. 

There is something she hasn’t seen very often. The man is heavily sedated yet there is a... chemistry.

A bond. 

A tether. 

The woman is smart.

She knows how to reach the man.

*

The woman leaves the room and is replaced by the man’s father.

Before she leaves she kisses the man’s cheek and adds a quiet ‘I’m coming back soon. Try to be well-behaved. I love you’.

Once the woman is safely out of earshot the man’s mother falls into his father’s arms. 

‘They’re having a baby, Joe. Our Scotty and his Tess, they’re finally having a baby,’ the mother croaks.

From where she’s checking the ventilator leads she has a clear view of the man’s father’s face. 

He’s dumbstruck.

‘They’re having a baby and supposed to be getting married in four weeks,’ the man’s mother states.

The man’s father doesn’t say anything but he stumbles backwards into the chair. 

His head slumps into his hands. His wife rubs the nape of his neck. 

‘C’mon Scott,’ he whispers, ‘stay with us’. 

*

At 10pm specialists assemble to discuss the man’s condition. 

He continues to deteriorate, completely dependent on the ventilator now, his lungs have lost the ability to function by themselves.

The woman has questions the doctors cannot answer. How? Why? What happens next?

The ICU has a strict two-visitor policy. The woman and the doctors decide to move to the meeting room down the hall, so the woman’s and the man’s families can join the discussion. 

It’s late but the families have gathered to listen, to hear the information first hand and support the woman.

As they depart the room she realises that the woman didn’t ask the doctors when the man might wake up.

The woman is smart. 

She knows she will not like the answer.

*

The woman comes back distraught.

‘Hey, Baby,’ she takes his hand.

She stifles a sob.

‘Here’s some words I never thought I’d say,’ she takes a solidifying breath, ‘we are going to try and find you a new heart’.


	2. A good heart, they say, is hard to find.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘A good heart, they say, is hard to find. So please be gentle with this heart of mine’.
> 
> Thanks to Feargal Sharkey for those words of wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been tricky to write. I’ve stopped and started so many times. HUGE thanks to my bestie Rook, for inspiring me to get back into this one today after a morning of writing chitty-chat. Mwah! You da best! And your new hair looks PERFECT!

She finishes her block of night shifts wondering if she’ll ever see the man and woman again.

But she does. At 6:45am four days later, when she returns for a block of five early morning shifts. 

The man is still in the same bed. And the woman is in the same chair.

‘Hi Rebecca,’ the woman says softly, gazing up from where her head is resting on the man’s bed, ‘it’s nice to see you again’.

‘It’s nice to see you too, Tess,’ is all she offers in return. 

*

The man’s condition is no longer deteriorating. For a very significant reason. Two days ago the man returned from surgery with a ventricle assist device implanted in his chest. It’s commonly referred to as a ‘bridge to transplant’ and has put the man in a temporary holding pattern while he awaits a new heart. 

The man is a good candidate for transplantation and has been placed on the national waiting list. He is young and fit and has an excellent support network.

‘We still don’t know what caused the cardiomyopathy,’ the woman states as she sits up. She looks tired. 

She’d look even more tired if she appreciated the metaphorical mountain she and the man are about to climb. 

This is one of those times when ignorance is bliss. Heart transplant recovery is hard, hard work. 

*

People can wait on the transplant register for years. 

But not the man. He waits another four days. Unconscious. The woman lives through every moment. 

Her shift started fifteen minutes ago. In the patient handover she learnt that the man’s blood type, body size and severity of his condition swirl into a sea of opportunistic fortune when a heart becomes available at a hospital just 45 minutes away and the preferred transplant candidate is unexpectedly rejected because they are suffering from a urinary tract infection. 

‘You have a heart. Already?’ the woman gasps to the cardiothoracic surgeon.

‘We do. We’re prepping the theatre right now. We need to start as quickly as we can’.

‘When will you take him?’ the woman grabs the man’s hand.

‘In about fifteen minutes we’ll move him to the Pre-Op ward to get him ready,’ the doctor states with a kind smile.

‘Oh,’ is the sound that escapes the woman’s mouth. 

*

She works to secure leads and ensure that tubing is appropriately fastened while the woman talks to the man.

‘I’m not ready,’ she whispers close to his head, ‘this is all happening too fast’.

The woman cups the man’s face, hands delicately over his cheek bones. Her hands speak to him more than her words. Delicate caresses, filled with unspoken love.

‘Please don’t leave me. Baby, I need you,’ the woman’s voice cracks with emotion. ‘We need you. Scott, we’re going to...’

The man’s father bustles into the room, interrupting the woman’s intimate confession.

‘I got here as fast as I can,’ the father puffs. 

‘Thank you, Joe,’ the woman collapses into the man’s father’s arms.

‘It’s OK Tess, it’s OK,’ he engulfs her shoulders in what seems like a familiar embrace. 

‘I just don’t want to be here anymore,’ the woman discreetly cries, her fists clutching the man’s father’s shirt. ‘I want our old life back’.

The woman is trying to be restrained. Trying to be calm. Trying to be hopeful.

Her hands give her away. 

She is not.

*

The man’s mother does not make it in time to see him before his surgery.

She stops at the empty bed bay with a look of horror. 

‘I’m too late,’ the man’s mother states, her voice laced with sadness and her face heavy with anguished defeat.

‘I’m sorry you’ve just missed him,’ is all she can offer the man’s mother in return. 

*

At the close of her shift, her last day of this block, the man is still in his transplant surgery. 

She has finished his patient handover, completed her paperwork and is making dinner plans with a colleague when she finds the woman by her side.

‘Rebecca, I’m sorry to interrupt you,’ the woman’s eyes apologetically flash to her co-worker. Her colleague discreetly excuses herself. 

‘That’s OK Tess. Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ the woman says quietly, ‘this is all very overwhelming’. 

Her eyes look fragile, like they’re harbouring heavy secrets behind a dam wall that’s just barely holding back the enormous weight of everything that she’s experienced in the past ten days. 

‘Will they bring Scott back here to the ICU straight after the surgery?’ 

‘No, they will take him to Recovery. When they are happy that he is stable they will bring him back up here. He’s bed may be in a different place. Did anyone have a chance to talk to you about his recovery yet?’

The woman shakes her head.

‘The transplant team will,’ she smiles at the woman. ‘They probably didn’t have time seeing everything happened so quickly’. 

Over the woman’s shoulder she sees the lead surgeon striding towards the Waiting Room. She tilts her head in the surgeon’s direction and the woman flees down the corridor to him.

She gathers her handbag from the locker behind the nurses station and begins to make her way to the lifts. It’s been a long day. As she passes the Waiting Room she hears five words that set her mood for the rest of her evening. 

‘Good news. It went well’.


	3. Take a breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott returns from surgery.
> 
> And life begins again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally, finally... chapter three.
> 
> Thanks to Rook, just for being Rook. For chatting and plotting and laughing.

It’s supposed to be her day off. Supposed to be. But she’s unexpectedly come back to the hospital the following day to do another early morning shift. Overtime. The extra money is helpful and she enjoys her job. She doesn’t mind. 

For continuity of care she’s working with the man again. He’s creeping back to consciousness from his deep sedation, less dependent on the respirator and showing encouraging signs of wakefulness.

The woman isn’t there. A stranger is there, sitting beside the bed, reading out the sports results from an online news service. He has a calm, steady voice. It’s comforting - just what the man needs as his brain reboots from its fathomless slumber. 

‘Oh, hey,’ the stranger looks up, ‘I’m Danny. Scott’s brother’.

‘Hello Danny, I’m Rebecca,’ she says in return. 

*

Just before lunch the woman returns. She looks a little more rested than previous days. 

‘You get any sleep, Tee?’ the brother asks. 

‘I did. More than I expected. I woke in a panic, worried Scott might be conscious before I got back here. Mom let me sleep. she said I needed the rest. She was probably right,’ the woman smiles. 

‘Moms usually are. Moms are amazing,’ the brother squeezes the woman’s forearm and gives her a knowing look.

‘Alma told you?’

‘She did,’ he answers softly with the most genuine look of happiness on his face, ‘I’m thrilled for you guys. You’ve waited a long time for this,’ he draws the woman to him and kisses the side of her head.

The woman bites her lip to stop her tears and takes a big breath, ‘I miss him holding me, Dan. I need him back. He doesn’t even know yet’. 

‘He’s coming back. I promise. In the meantime, I’ll be your stand-in and give you all the Moir cuddles you need. I know it won’t be the same. I’m better looking, with more muscles, but I think you’ll find I’m a good substitute’. 

The woman rolls her eyes. Then throws her arms around the brother’s neck. 

‘Thank you. I love you,’ she whispers. ‘We’re going to need everyone’s help getting through this. I’m scared’.

‘I love you too. You’re doing a great job,’ the brother responds, closing his eyes to stop his own tears.

*

Immediately after the man’s brother has left, before the woman even has a chance to sit down, the man’s surgeon sweeps in to the side of the bed and takes a look at his wound. There is no sign of redness or swelling. No streaking or unusual discharge. It looks good. 

It’s looks brutal. 

But looks good. 

It looks long and violent. 

But looks good.

It looks neat and secure.

So looks good. 

‘I’m really happy with that,’ the man’s surgeon declares. The surgeon is decisive and impressive. He is technically talented but with a quirky bedside manner. ‘His vitals are stable, the blood work is great too. Let’s wean him off the last of the sedatives, wake him up and get him breathing on his own’.

The woman inhales sharply and puts her hands over her mouth, eyes going wide, looking around in a panic. 

The ICU has honed her observation skills, she knows those eyes, the look of being physically overcome, the face of uncontrolled dread. The woman is about to vomit. She passes the woman a emesis bowl and the woman turns to be sick.

The man’s surgeon is unimpressed, his brow furrows and he begins speak, ‘We cannot risk Scott’s recovery. If you’re feeling unwell we need you...’

‘No, I would never... I would never risk his health,’ the woman rushes out, her tone a mixture of indignation and apology. ‘I’m not sick. I’m pregnant,’ she finishes with a weak smile. Her eyes flit to the man and her face reflects a look of wonder.

The surgeon’s stance immediately softens, ‘You two have a lot going on at the moment’. He walks around the man’s bed and gives the woman’s arm a comforting pat. ‘Here’s the thing. Scott is fit. And until the cardiomyopathy he was in excellent health. The new heart eliminated the cardiomyopathy. So we don’t have a sick patient. Instead, we have a weak patient, whose body needs to adjust to a new heart, new medications and to recover from some incredibly invasive surgery. More than that, we have a man who is going to wake up and find that he’s been unconscious for two weeks and his life has been turned upside down’.

The woman looks to the man. Her hand reaches to his, her small fingers stretching through the room and inching into his silent world, offering him comfort and love. 

The woman’s eyes fill with tears. She’s witnessed the woman shed a lot of tears over the past two weeks. None have been wasted. The woman is sagacious and strong. 

‘I have no doubt his physical recovery will be impressive. But the mental and emotional aspects are going to very, very tough. His body will need a long time to make a full recovery. Months. He will require a significant amount of support to accept the short and long term implications of the transplant’.

The woman looks thoughtful, processing the information. She gets a steely look on her face, exhaling slowly and deeply, ‘I have a lot of questions’.

The surgeon pulls out the chair that was loafing against the wall and invites the woman to sit. He drags the other chair from the very end of the bed and sits next to her.

‘Alright, I don’t have to be back in my rooms for another 90 minutes. We’re going sit here together until I’ve answered all your questions’.

*

As the time whiles away and the end of her shift looms the man’s eyelids start to flutter, his soft groans become more frequent and his fingers curl and uncurl against his palm. 

The woman cannot stay seated, she is agitated and concerned, standing beside the bed for almost an hour, stroking the man’s forearm and whispering in his ear. She tries not to infringe upon the woman’s space, doesn’t want to encroach on the intimacy of the moment but she needs to monitor the man’s re-entry into his new reality. She hears the woman talking softly to the man, ‘I’m right here, Baby. I’m just here. Open your eyes. I miss you’.

Very swiftly, over the course of half an hour the man’s eyes begin to open regularly and he barrels towards lucidity, fighting the ventilator and slowly moving his hands towards his mouth.

‘Scott, I’m Rebecca, your nurse. Welcome back. You have a tube down your throat, it was helping your breathe. I know it feels uncomfortable but we’re going to get the doctor to see about taking that out as soon as we can. Just try and stay relaxed, Tess is right here’. 

The woman steps into the man’s field of vision. A lone tear slips from his eye and she touches his brow and clutches his hand. 

‘You’re in big trouble buddy,’ she says softly, ‘I’ve been planning a wedding and my fiancé has been missing for two weeks. You’re so dramatic’.

The man’s eyes go wide, his hand lifts slightly off the bed and he holds up two fingers. 

‘Uhuh, you’ve been asleep for two weeks. Oh my God, I’ve missed you,’ she smiles through tears. 

The man rapidly blinks his eyes and shakes his head. Before the woman can respond the man’s surgeon is at his bedside, ‘Scott, great to see you awake, let’s do a couple quick tests and see if we can take that tube out of your throat. Then we can have a good chat’.

She sets up the extubation tray and manoeuvres the woman out of the surgeon’s way. The man flies through the breathing trials and the surgeon asks him to cough before swiftly removing the tubing. It’s all over before the man and woman know what’s going on. 

The man takes a breath, wincing as he feels the sting and tightness of his chest expanding under its own effort. 

He looks at the woman and two quiet words escape his lips. 

His first in 13 days.

‘Hey, Birdie’.

**Author's Note:**

> OK, you all with me? 
> 
> Shall we keep doing this?


End file.
